Forgotten Place (37 page)

"We'll see about that, Dr. Storm," I met his
eyes in silent challenge and wondered if he could feel me watching
him too.

"See about what?"

"Hmm.  Hal, are you ready?"

He opened the door for me and swept one
hand.

"Wish me luck, Orion."

"Luck," Johnny said.

Storm's eyes swiveled to
the door when Hal opened it.  I swept into the room on his low
whistle.  His gaze crawled over me, cheap and
unsettling.  "I'd heard stories, but hell. 
Hell
!  You are one
tall woman, detective."

I pulled out a chair and sat without
offering greeting or introduction.  "Do you know why you're
here?"

"Rumors in this city are what they are," he
shrugged and shot a wicked grin.  "How's that boy of yours
doing, detective?  Is he lurking around, perhaps behind that
window making sure nobody steps on his turf?"

"Women are manipulative creatures by nature,
Mr. Storm."

"Doctor," he corrected with a thin
smile.

"Retired.  Whatever," I shrugged. 
"Women have known for years that the path of least resistance is to
merely let a man believe what he wishes to believe.  We say
what must be said because it's less difficult than fighting certain
battles."  I felt the eyes bore into my back through the
window.  Johnny couldn't claim I hadn't warned him.

"You're a bit feminine in that regard,
aren't you Riley?"

"Excuse me?"

"You had a habit of saying
– or in your case,
documenting
– what people wanted to read back in the day when
you ran the medical examiner's office.  What I find
particularly interesting is that you started out doing a very
competent job, so I know that the abrupt departure from quality
work wasn't mere stupidity.  What was it? 
Money?"

He snorted.  "I won't fall for your
tactics, Detective Eriksson.  If you've got hard evidence
against me, arrest me.  Otherwise I have nothing –"

"Riley Storm, you're under arrest for the
murder of Harry McNamara.  You have the right to remain
silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in
a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If
you cannot afford one, the state will provide one at its
expense.  Do you understand your rights as I have defined
them?"  I held his gaze and didn't blink.

He did.

"Well played, detective."

"
Doctor
," I replied in kind.  "Do
you understand your rights?  Hal?" I reached to my left
without breaking eye contact with Storm.

Vickers procured paperwork from a clipboard
in his lap and pulled a pen from his pocket.

"Where do I sign?  And when do I get
this –"

"Before you request legal counsel," I
interrupted, "I would like to inform you that the case against you
is open and shut.  You have no hope of leniency, nor will Mr.
Carpenter be inclined to listen to a damn word you have to
say.  That master plan, the one where you incriminated Billy
Withers in all of this?  We've already confirmed Billy's alibi
for the time in question.  You," I said with absolute
certainty, "did not do your homework particularly well, Mr.
Storm."

Storm scrawled his name on the form
verifying that he'd been informed of his rights.  "Well then,
I suppose all of this is a mere formality, though I can't imagine
why the department would send someone of your reputation over here
to read me my rights."

My smile sent ice crystals climbing the
windows.  "Because I requested it, Mr. Storm.  You see, I
wanted to look you in the eye and tell you personally how horrific
your crime truly was, and have the pleasure of laying out exactly
how this will play in court.  Harry McNamara was a beloved
figure in this city.  When word leaks to the press about how
he really died..." I clicked my tongue and glanced at Vickers.

"Have you called that reporter that's been
so interested in what we're doing?"

"Crevan's wife."  Vickers gave a solemn
nod.

"Good," I said.  "We'll have the sick,
depraved details all over the paper by morning.  I can only
imagine how the good Catholics in this city will be praying for
retribution at mass."

Some of Riley's self-confidence leeched
away, replaced by doubt.  "Exactly what is it that you believe
I did, Detective Eriksson?"

"Oh, I can't really talk to
you, Riley.  I'd be too tempted to ask questions.  You
know, like
have you no soul or
conscience
?  Or was I mistaken that
you were about to invoke your right to an attorney?  Really,
that suits me just fine."  I crossed my arms over my
chest.  "Contrary to what you've heard from your very
misinformed friend, I have nothing better to do with my Saturday
night than wait for your lawyer to arrive.  I'll be happy to
tell him the gory details of what Harry suffered as he
died."

"You're bluffing."

"We exhumed his remains two days ago. 
I assure you, Maya Winslow does not bluff, nor does she miss the
most minute of details.  Surely you've heard that in your
precious rumor mill."

I glanced at Vickers and continued. 
"The smart play in this situation would be to talk, to tell us
everything and accept a plea bargain before the city finds out what
happened to someone who is still widely revered.  Funny that
Riley landed at Downey though, don't you think?  I mean, we
haven't got the best reputation for keeping prisoners in our
custody safe."

Storm sucked in a deep breath.  "Did
you just threaten me?"

I shrugged.  "It's simply a matter of
record, Dr. Storm.  First that killer died here under
suspicious circumstances, ones which I might add, you failed to
properly identify before his remains mysteriously disappeared, and
then there was the most recent murder down in the tombs. 
Cyanide, we learned thanks to Dr. Winslow."

"I'll take my chances –"

"With public opinion when
they learn that Jerry Lowe pumped his boss full of succinylcholine
that
you
provided,
and made it appear that he was dead until you were able to begin
embalming him while he was still alive?  Riley," I paused and
let him absorb Vickers' horrified gasp for a moment before the
outrage transformed into something decidedly more worthy of lynch
mob mentality.  "That is not a very wise choice."

"You can't prove a thing!"

"Oh, but we can.  Sixteen years ago, it
was very difficult to prove that succinylcholine had been
administered to someone as a tool for homicide.  Now we know
what to look for.  Sadly for you, the metabolite that resulted
from the dose given to Chief McNamara happens to be one of the most
slowly degrading elements in the universe.  At least that
we're aware of.  Potassium will be present in his perfectly
preserved skin a lot longer than the calcium in his bones,
Riley."

His eyes widened, and the clenching fist on
the table fell still. 

"Then there are the multiple access points
you used to inject him with Formalin, I think it was.  I
believe Maya said you used the brachial, subclavian, carotid and
femoral arteries.  Drained out the blood while you infused the
chemicals.  While the man's heart continued to beat. 
That is probably the worst pathology I've witnessed in a serial
killer."

Hal's body started to
shake.  "Ask for your lawyer, you son of a bitch.  I want
this coming out in open court.  I want the people in this city
demanding the death penalty.  It's still on the books. 
I'll volunteer to start the IV in your arm before they pump
you
full of
poison."

I reached across the table and flipped to
the second page on the clipboard.  "What do you say,
Riley?  Would you rather come clean with me now and waive your
right to an attorney, or is Hal thinking for you?  Quiet plea
bargain... this goes away without the public trial."

Hal's genuine rage helped more than I ever
dreamed it would.  Saying that McNamara was beloved after
sixteen years of Jerry Lowe's reign of terror proved the
understatement of all time. 

"Don't sign it, you fucking coward," Hal
snarled when Riley picked up the ink pen.

He scrawled his name quickly and slid the
clipboard to me.

"Did you give Jerry Lowe access to
succinylcholine?"

"Yes," he rasped.  "I had no idea that
he... about the other murders or rapes or what have you."

"Who administered the drug to Harry
McNamara?"

"Jerry did it," Storm's voice
trembled.  "They told me he was dead, that they needed his
body prepared for the funeral right away.  I didn't know he
was still alive until... until..."

"He came to while you were pumping him full
of chemicals."

Riley squeezed his eyes shut and
nodded.  I could only imagine how those screams must've
haunted him over the years. 

"How did Lowe get you to go along with
keeping this quiet, Dr. Storm?"

He shook his head.  "I - I can't do
this."

"You better do it, you motherfucker," Hal
snarled, "or I can promise you, what happened to Chief McNamara
will pale in comparison to what we do to you!"

"Detective Vickers," I patted Hal's
arm.  "Let him talk."

"He came to me a week before McNamara
died.  Somehow, Jerry got my curriculum vitae from the county
supervisor's office."

"He asked for a favor to keep the
embellishments quiet, didn't he?"

Riley looked up quickly.  "You know
about that?"

"Graduating from med school in Puerto Rico
is nothing to be ashamed of.  Sure it's not Harvard and
residency at Johns Hopkins, but your work prior to becoming a cold
blooded killer was exemplary."

"I had no idea what the favor was," he
rasped.  "I'm a dead man now either way."

"Because you believe Jerry Lowe can still
get to you?"

"How can you know so much and know nothing
at all?"

Now we were getting somewhere. 

"Jerry Lowe doesn't have the mind to come up
with such a slick scheme, does he?  But because he was part of
it, when he told you that someone died of cardiac failure, you had
no choice but to jump through the hoop.  After all, he watched
you embalm a living man.  That surely trumped fudging on your
medical credentials, didn't it?"

"I really can't do this, detective."

"I already know the man pulling all the
strings, Riley."

"If you really knew, he'd already be in a
cell beside me," he spat.  "You know nothing, and the only
hope I have of staying alive is to keep my mouth shut about the
rest of it!"

"Tell me where Mitch Southerby is
buried."

It was the wrong question to ask. 
Storm's eyes hardened.  "Well played Dr. Eriksson.  I
believe I'd like my attorney now.  If you want to play head
games, I'd suggest you head back to Dunhaven and dig for answers
there."

Chapter 33

I paced and muttered curses under my
breath.  "Dammit."

"Doc, you got a confession."

"It wasn't enough.  He didn't say the
name we needed to hear."

"It's like you said," Johnny murmured. 
"This was the first run at him.  Let him have his
lawyer.  When he's advised to cooperate because he already
confessed, we can do a deal he won't be able to resist."

My expression conveyed horror at the idea of
rewarding Storm for his part in what had been going on in Darkwater
Bay all these years.

"Listen, we'll do what we have to do to get
the man most responsible.  Don't lose sight of that."

"Taking another run at Lowe would be an
exercise in utmost futility."

Johnny frowned.  "You are not going
back out to Dunhaven, Helen."

"Didn't I say it would be a waste of
time?"

"Yet it was the only thing Storm said that
pointed you to someone who might be stupid enough to spill his
guts."

I shook my head and tasted bitterness in the
laughter that bubbled from my throat.  "Jerry Lowe might be a
lot of things, but stupid? He played Riley like a fiddle when he
sucked him into this mess."

"We'll take another run at him in the
morning, Doc.  Let's go home."

"I want OSI guarding Storm.  Can you
make arrangements to see to the transfer before we leave
here?  Recent history has underscored that it's too easy to
breech Darkwater's divisions, Johnny.  We cannot risk anything
happening to Riley before he's persuaded to make a full
confession."

He dug in his pocket for the cell phone,
tossed the keys to my Expedition on the desk to remove the
device.

I stared at them, mind slowly churning
everything that Riley Storm said.  Why had he become so
uncooperative when I asked where Mitch Southerby was buried? 
Why did he tell me that I needed to go back to Dunhaven and start
digging around?  Odd choice of words.  Digging
around. 

A jiggle of the mouse on Crevan's desk woke
the computer.  Johnny drifted away, engrossed in his
conversation with Darnell, who was still likely at the party out on
Hennessey Island.  I opened the browser window and searched
for information on Dunhaven Hospital.

It was built in 1919 to
house insane inmates. 
Lovely
.  The documented history
proved quite interesting.  I was right in my initial
assumption that the location had been poorly chosen on the marshy
lowland south of the bay.  The hospital had a complex drainage
system installed prior to construction, which was quite a feat of
engineering for the time, to siphon away the water and keep the
foundation from crumbling.  I read the next phrase of the
sentence:
and keep the basement
dry.
  Treatment rooms were built and
finished in the cavernous sub level where in the 1930s,
electroconvulsive therapy began, followed later by hydrotherapy,
insulin shock therapy and other modalities that were no longer used
after the advent of psychotropic medications in the
1950s.